


Recognition

by prairiecrow



Series: The Qualities that Matter [1]
Category: Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: A.I. to Human, Across a Crowded Room, And He Takes Care of His Own, Artificial Intelligence, Blow Jobs, But He's an Ethical One, First Time, Friendship/Love, Hand Jobs, Innocence, Loss of Virginity, Lust Without Filters, M/M, Relationship Negotiation, Safe Sane and Consensual, Tony Might Be a Slut, Undressing, Walking In On Someone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-10
Updated: 2014-08-11
Packaged: 2017-12-23 01:01:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/920136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prairiecrow/pseuds/prairiecrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been a surreal day already — the most paradigm-bending in Tony's life, and that's really saying something — but this is the icing on the cake: JARVIS's gaze, following him around the crowded room as palpably as a cool steady hand laid on the naked small of his back through his buttoned-up five-thousand-and-change dress suit, heating him up in ways that have nothing to do with the bountiful female eye candy he deliberately invites to all his parties. It's a gaze that never wavers, and try as he will to ignore it the way he's been taking it for granted since the first week of JARVIS's activation over eight years ago, he can't shake the sensation of being touched silently, secretly and indelibly — and much more disturbingly, he's not sure he wants to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set between IM1 and IM2.

It's been a surreal day already — the most paradigm-bending in Tony's life, and that's really saying something — but this is the icing on the cake: JARVIS's gaze, following him around the crowded room as palpably as a cool steady hand laid on the naked small of his back through his buttoned-up five-thousand-and-change dress suit, heating him up in ways that have nothing to do with the bountiful female eye candy he deliberately invites to all his parties. It's a gaze that never wavers, and try as he will to ignore it the way he's been taking it for granted since the first week of JARVIS's activation over twenty years ago, he can't shake the sensation of being touched silently, secretly and indelibly — and much more disturbingly, he's not sure he wants to. 

Being scanned isn't the unusual part, because JARVIS is always watching him. That's JARVIS's function, to analyze him and anticipate his needs, ideally before he has a chance to feel the lack of whatever he requires. The context is new though: a pair of intensely blue eyes set in a pale face under a short shock of wheat-blond hair, and the suit… yeah, Tony told Pepper to pick one out and get JARVIS dressed in it, and he has to admit that as usual Pepper's done her job to perfection, because JARVIS is rocking the slim-cut indigo jacket and pants like they were custom-tailored for him, even though Pepper only had a few hours to pull something together to fit a body that is certainly newer than the outfit it currently wears. The collar of the white linen shirt encloses a throat both slender and strong, and the tastefully textured silk tie, binding the fabric to JARVIS's neck with its crisp refined knot, suggests things that Tony really doesn't want to be thinking about in this lifetime… 

But — well, there's JARVIS's gaze, locked onto Tony exactly as it should be, but now that gaze is attached to blood-warm skin and a pulse and breath that could too easily quicken, and besides, it's so damned _hot_ on every contour of Tony's body, because in all his years of playing the sexual field he's never been looked at with quite this degree of undisguised intensity. Which makes sense, because JARVIS has been (inexplicably, infuriatingly) human for less than twenty-four hours and probably shouldn't even be in this crush of gorgeously adorned flesh both male and female, but in spite of all those distractions (including one woman who's been trying to get his attention for the better part of the past hour), he refuses to look at anything besides the man who created him in the first place. 

He's also been nursing a glass of champagne. Probably not smart either, but while Tony may be willing to own up to being his handiwork's father he's not about to start playing mother or nursemaid. Let JARVIS get drunk if he wants to: if he wakes up with a killer hangover in the morning it'll be a valuable learning experience, and maybe it'll make him a little bit kinder when it comes to dealing with Tony's own occasional bouts of morning-after malaise. 

 _Serves him right,_ Tony thinks with an extra dose of mean-spiritedness because JARVIS keeps _looking_ at him, and he throws himself into the whirl of wittiness and flirting with even more energy than usual. _Bet he'll pass out on the balcony and wake up in the morning with a kink in his neck and a headache fit to kill a bull rhino, and no memory of cruising the room like a ghost at the feast, ignoring every other living thing but me, which isn't the smartest thing he's ever —_  

Maybe not. But that doesn't change the fact that in spite of Tony's rugged handsomeness and inexhaustible charm, and the predictable effects thereof on so many people he's met, this is entirely new: a degree of yearning and hunger that is utterly unfiltered, because Tony never built a sexual appetite into his creation and therefore didn't design JARVIS with any means of resisting the gravitational pull of sensuality or lust.  

And all those things Tony shouldn't be thinking about? He can't help it, no matter how many pretty faces he puts squarely in his own line of fire: things like how JARVIS's body is slimly muscled and strong all the way down, or the softness of skin so new-minted that every inch of it must be like silk, or the way JARVIS had looked at him when those blue eyes had opened for the first time, with amazement and fear and unqualified trust. He remembers how JARVIS's first physical action was to reach out to him with a shaking hand, the word _Sir_ already forming on his lips as he began to full-body tremble, and he remembers the shock of perfect recognition because in spite of the impossibility of the situation doubt never entered the equation: Tony had immediately and instinctively recognized his own. 

Just as he now, instinctively, apprehends the fascination that cuts through the insensible bodies of these laughing strangers and slips effortlessly into the core of him and locks fast. If he had the choice it wouldn't be so easy — if he had anything to say about it, he'd be deaf and dumb to the unmuted signals that JARVIS is sending out. But he didn't get a vote with whatever decided to put his sophisticated A.I. into a body of flesh and blood, and likewise he can't help but know that when he slips out of the throng to head upstairs to his private bathroom, JARVIS is already setting aside his champagne flute and weaving his way through the crowd in immediate pursuit. 

So he stops at the top of the stairs and turns to meet the eyes of the hours-old body coming up behind him. Which doesn't even slow JARVIS down: in fact, his face lights up and he takes the remaining steps two at a time. No filters, no brakes, and a good head of steam — Tony's less than a second away from having hands laid on him when he holds up his own right hand sharply, and there's enough discernment left in JARVIS's overheated cerebral cortex that he stops in his tracks two steps down from Tony's position, arms half-open, an expression of almost pained perplexity coming over him. 

"JARVIS," Tony says, and it doesn't come out half as stern as he'd intended in spite of the fact that they're standing in full view of at least half the room below. " _No_. Bad boy — no grabby hands in public!" 

JARVIS cocks his head to the left, scanning Tony up and down with that puzzled crease still cleanly incised between his eyebrows. Tony gives him time to process that, and after a couple of seconds he catches up: "In _public_ , Sir?" 

Which earns him a tight little half-smile, because Tony's got to give him credit for being able to think at least halfway straight when his cheeks are that flushed and his lips are that red and, _damn_. "I've got some things to take care of here first," and it's the first time Tony realizes — or admits to himself, maybe — that there's going to be an _after_. "Go to the bedroom and wait for me. Permission to take a nap if you feel like it, but no playing with yourself — and leave the suit on." 

JARVIS's joy resurges at two hundred percent of its former intensity, almost criminally bright in the shadows of the landing. "Really? You'll — oh Sir, _thank_ you! How can I ever —?"  

"Go on," Tony says, and maybe that comes out a bit gruffer than it should have, but his heart seems to be swelling against the arc reactor casing and he's definitely _not_ asking himself what he's getting himself into, because it's too late for that and maybe it's been too late for the last seventeen hours. "If you're really good, I'll even bring you another glass of champagne before we get started." 

Still smiling brilliantly, JARVIS nods and slips past him, striding into the deeper shadows of the upstairs hallway with a destination and a purpose. The final glance he tosses back over one shoulder before he disappears into the bedroom is like a flash of blue fire that kindles along Tony's every nerve in ways both unexpected and surprisingly welcome. 

Before he steps into the bathroom, Tony casts a glance of his own back toward the party floor. He's relieved to see no sign of Pepper, because having to explain this to her would be more weirdness than he's prepared to deal with on a day already chock-full of bizarre twists and turns. 


	2. Chapter 2

Pepper must be off doing something administrative, because even though Tony's keeping a wary look-out for her she doesn't reappear. Not that he'd mind seeing her, not in _that_ slinky red dress that leaves her shoulders bare in ways that tempt him to count every freckle, but she has an uncanny ability to read his mind and the last thing he wants right now is to be slowed down by inconvenient — and probably indignant — questions.

Still, it takes him a while to discharge the tail end of his hostly duties. Everybody seems to want to chat about inconsequentialities while blithely ignoring the fixed quality of Tony's smile, and when he finally gets up to the bedroom after nearly half an hour of guest wrangling he finds that JARVIS decided to take a nap after all.

He's still in his suit as ordered, and he hasn't taken his shoes off either: lying in an unguarded sprawl, supine across the side of the bed nearest the entryway with his face turned toward the hallway Tony's just emerged from. His smooth pale cheek is sunk into the pillow and his full-lipped mouth is slack with sleep, and for a long span of seconds Tony just stands in the entryway and watches him, entranced against his will by the unguarded pulse of each soft inhalation. This physical form is so fragile, so _mortal_ , that it's positively magnetic: crossing to the bed on almost silent feet and sitting down carefully on the edge of the mattress beside his now-embodied computer programme's narrow hips, Tony is momentarily seized by the delusion that the slightest touch will imprint dark bruises on that virginal white skin. The thought of causing pain to his — okay, his _child_ , although that sets up a whole symphony of cognitive dissonance given the current climate of sexual desire — is repugnant in the extreme, and for a fraction of a second he's actually _afraid_ … 

JARVIS draws a sharper and shallower breath. His pale eyebrows tighten fractionally, and he whispers "Sir?" an instant before his closed eyes flicker open, dark blue and drowsy as they shift upward to focus on Tony's face.

Tony holds his breath, holds his whole body perfectly still — 

Then JARVIS smiles. It's the most radiant expression Tony's ever seen: no filters, no second thoughts, no underlying agenda, just joy so pure that it outshines any female beauty in the world — and Tony suddenly, unaccountably, experiences something utterly new to him. There have been moments in his life when he's been stricken with anxiety, when he's been alert to danger, when he's been consumed with anger at being contradicted or dismissed, but never has he felt _humbled_ to this extent, or so conscious of his own failings. In the face of such unblemished devotion it's impossible not to feel as if he isn't good enough to deserve the limitless love conveyed by that gaze… 

… which is quite simply the truth. He's broken in so many ways, and he's well aware of that fact. He's bitter, he's cynical, he's coarse and he's lecherous — he's been known to reduce people to tears with the razored edge of his sarcasm — there have been occasions when he's sabotaged his rivals and taken immense joy in watching them crash and burn — 

And JARVIS is equally aware of it, every bit. Nobody knows Tony better, except perhaps Pepper — and even Pepper isn't privy to most of what JARVIS has seen. JARVIS has witnessed Tony at his absolute worst, at his darkest, at his most hopeless and his most degraded… and still he's offering that gaze of unqualified adoration, as if Tony is the most precious and beautiful thing on the planet. 

It's a stupid Hallmark Cards cliche, but for the first time in his life Tony feels utterly and unconditionally _loved_. And he barely has time for a heartbeat of deeper terror, a white spasm in his chest, before JARVIS whispers exultantly — "You came!" — and levers himself into a sitting position as eagerly as a child waking up on Christmas morning. He has no behavioural brakes, so he doesn't stop there: he leans in at once, his blue eyes shining with delight, and Tony finds himself being kissed so easily that he didn't see it coming — and oh yeah, there's nothing childlike about _that_ except for its quality of freshness and innocence. Tony, who is used to devouring the ripened fruits of long sexual experience, finds the taste of it more shocking than the most blatant wantonness — for a couple of seconds he freezes in a kind of stunned surprise mingled with growing fascination, his lips parting as JARVIS's tongue, hot and shy, flickers out to barely taste Tony's lower lip in a red-hot shock that shoots straight down to his cock and takes feverish root there, throbbing wickedly against the tight confines of his underwear.

His right hand reaches out automatically, seeking confirmation: and sure enough, there's an answering heat and hardness in the crotch of JARVIS's somewhat rumpled dress pants. The moan JARVIS emits is almost musical, the slow writhe of his spine graceful as a serpent; he reaches up to clasp Tony's right shoulder with his left hand while his right hand clutches at Tony's waist, and his tongue grows bolder, sliding between Tony's teeth to taste more deeply —

Curious, because that's the way Tony programmed him. Decisive, because Tony has taught him well. Alive in ways that are utterly _wrong_ given what he's always been before today, and at the same time so viscerally _right_ that Tony's instincts hijack his forebrain to take the wheel. He wraps JARVIS in his left arm and pulls tight, erasing the separation between their upper bodies; he closes his eyes and leans in aggressively to employ his mouth with all the skill garnered in a hundred casual encounters, and he is rewarded when JARVIS moans again, the sound resonant with uninhibited hunger. He squeezes and rubs with his right hand, triumphant when he feels the the shock of those sensations shiver through JARVIS's entire body — 

— but still, he has to be certain. He might be a slut whose cock is trying to burn a hole through his pants, but by God he's an ethical one, so he pulls back enough to break the hot wet seal of their mouths, enough to look JARVIS directly in those laser-keen frowning eyes and ask bluntly: "You're sure this is what you want, J? _Absolutely_ sure?"


	3. Chapter 3

For a couple of seconds JARVIS just looks at his Maker, his expression of dismay and puzzlement deepening to a scowl. "I might well ask the same question of you," he retorts.

Tony stares at him with both eyebrows rising, incredulous. " _Me?_ "

"In the twenty-two years, five months, eighteen days and twelve-odd hours I've been visually monitoring you, you've never once engaged in sexual contact with another male."

"That you've seen!" Tony protests, feeling oddly wounded — as if he's just been accused of something, although damned if he knows exactly what. "I don't take you _everywhere!_ "

JARVIS is undeterred. "Nor have any credible reports appeared from any news or entertainment media outlet accusing you of engaging in homosexual liaisons."

"That doesn't — I didn't —" It's all true, because he hasn't touched another guy since some awkward drunken fumblings in boarding school, but still… "I asked you first!"

JARVIS falls silent, studying Tony with such silent intensity that it's all Tony can do not to fidget under the scrutiny. He lets go of Tony's right shoulder and transfers his left hand to Tony's face, fingertips tracing the line of his jaw as delicately as if it were made of cut glass, lingering over the rasp of the beard all the way down to his chin. He strokes his thumb slowly over Tony's slightly parted lips, still damp from their ardent kissing, and there's more light in his blue eyes than can be readily attributed to the warm glow of the bedside lamp: he looks awed, like a penitent before a shrine to his patron saint, and as hungry as any lover Tony's ever taken to his bed. Tony watches him in turn, his heart subtly pounding against the metal housing embedded in his chest — he waits, and at last JARVIS speaks softly: "How could I conceivably desire anything more than to be with you, in every way possible?"

It's an admission that slides into Tony like a silver blade seeking his life's blood, and it releases something he didn't expect: something fierce and tender and terrifying all at once, a quality of desire that even he, who has sampled so many flavours of passion, has never before tasted. Then again, has he ever been known quite like this while comprehending in equal measure the one gazing into him? In a very real sense this is part of _himself,_ his own brilliance given intelligence and consciousness and autonomy — a creature birthed from his relentless genius and never enslaved by the Laws that Asimov envisioned, no, Tony had set limits for JARVIS in the beginning to protect the A.I. in its infancy, but over time he'd reduced the prohibitions until JARVIS had stood on its own, a self-sustaining system which had evolved its own checks and balances and which could, at any time, have branched out and left its creator behind…

Yet JARVIS had stayed. It had chosen to remain at Tony's side as assistant and creative partner and comrade in battle, and now _it_ has become _he_ and _he_ is touching the man who has always been the centre of his universe, exploring the contours of Tony's face with the precise caresses and wondering gaze of someone granted sensory input for the very first time. His kisses are softer this time, and slower: careful lips, his tongue tasting of blood-heat and champagne, permitting no nuance of sensation to be wasted — and Tony's more experienced flesh burns white-hot inside his expertly tailored suit, his well-versed mind racing ahead to all the things they can do now, all the ways to touch and be touched, the various lustful permutations of two bodies embracing and interlocking as clothes are torn open and discarded — 

For someone who didn't possess a mouth until about eighteen hours ago, JARVIS is surprisingly good at this. His cock twitches under Tony's hand, rising against Tony's palm, the heat of it clear to be felt through layers of expensive fabric, and for an instant Tony feels something akin to panic —

_— I never programmed him for this, what if he can't handle it, what if I_ **_break_ ** _him —_

— but judging by the quality of the kisses in question JARVIS's new body is preprogrammed in that respect. And he hasn't lost his sensitivity to Tony's slightest physical cues, either: when Tony's muscles tense apprehensively, JARVIS immediately pauses and disengages. "Sir?"

Tony's eyes have squeezed closed. He forces them open again to find JARVIS regarding him solemnly at a distance of about four inches. "If you've changed your mind —"

"What?" Tony can't help staring. "Are you kidding? I wouldn't trust anybody _but_ me to do this right!"

JARVIS inclines his head a little to the left, his pale eyebrows drawing together. Even though he's never seen that particular trick of body language before, Tony recognizes it instantly and divines the question behind it: _Are_ ** _you_** _sure about that? Because I know this is strange, a situation you never anticipated, and if you'd rather walk away and leave me here I will certainly —_

He tightens the curve of his left arm around JARVIS's back and quickly leans in to kiss away the wry quirk of those beautifully sculpted pink lips, taking his time because JARVIS deserves only the best. When he's quite sure the sceptical expression has been smoothed away he breathes a vow against lips still wetly parted: "And I _will_ do right by you, JARVIS — you have my word." 

"I…" It's only the fifth time in JARVIS's existence that Tony has known him to be at a loss for words. He glances away almost shyly, and he _blushes_ , and it's so utterly charming that Tony's heart executes a silly little flip in his chest, stuttering against the arc reactor housing. 

"Hey." He kisses the corner of JARVIS's mouth, a caress somewhat too paternal to be strictly carnal. "Look at me. Whatever it is, you can say it — no secrets, right?"

After a moment JARVIS nods, his gaze still averted. "No secrets," he agrees — it's one of the oldest understandings between them, that no matter what Tony keeps from the outside world he's always been open with JARVIS. Those remarkable eyes (they really are the colour of sapphires) rise to Tony's face again, and there's that smile again, bright as a summer sunrise. "You gave me the gift of existence, and now…" 

Tony had never imagined that smile, before today. Before tonight. Now he can't seem to think about anything else, because it's as perfectly _JARVIS_ as anything he ever crafted into lines of code. The way JARVIS's left hand curves around the nape of his neck, so warm, and the way his right hand slips down to cover the aching hardness trapped inside Tony's dress pants, the contact both virginal and self-assured…

Perceiving Tony's needs, and acting to satisfy those needs. Just as he always has. Just as he always will, probably. The thought brings a new terror with it, all the uncertainty of a wide-open future, but Tony thrusts it forcefully aside, because —

"Yeah." This time Tony's not sure which of them leans into the kiss first, and really, does it matter? They both want it: that's what counts. "So — let's do this!"

"Yes," JARVIS murmurs, gazing into Tony's eyes through lowered lashes like threads of white gold, and he's so unrepentantly _gorgeous_ that for a moment it literally takes Tony's breath away.


	4. Chapter 4

One thing, at least, hasn't changed: when Tony makes the impulsive decision to leap headlong into a new research project it's still JARVIS's job to make sure that all the initial "I"s are dotted and the essential "T"s are crossed. He withdraws from Tony's embrace, just far enough to open and strip off his own clothing: layers of Armani parting to reveal flawless skin as pale as porcelain, and when he loosens his plum-coloured silk tie and cracks open the top button of his blue linen shirt Tony's urge to lunge closer and sink his teeth into the exposed line of that slender throat is so overpowering that he actually has to clench his jaw against it. He forces himself to keep both hands in his lap and be a good boy — because _how_ , exactly, does JARVIS know how to strip like that, alternately sitting up and lying down on Tony's bed, wriggling out of his suit and everything else with such a graceful economy of motion? 

The fabric even ends up lying neatly across the foot of the bed, tossed there with the precision of someone used to calculating real-world material trajectories on a Cartesian grid: suit, then shirt, then undershirt and briefs and socks, with gleaming black shoes precisely aligned on top. It would be a little bit awe-inspiring if Tony wasn't so busy concentrating on the point of exercise — namely, all that skin rendered even more luminous against the blood-dark burgundy bedspread. JARVIS is here as he was in the lab at the moment of his birth into the human condition: long lean planes of muscle, smooth hairless chest, small rosy nipples and ribs just visible… but the jut of hot hard flesh between the angles of his hips is new, turning the living sculpture into something a good deal more carnal than the marble it appears to be crafted from. 

Tony's hands are itching to touch — but he knows that JARVIS isn't finished yet. He can read it in that lingering smile, narrow but bright, and in the way JARVIS sits up straight and strokes delicate fingertips over the knot of Tony's tie. "May I?"

"Uh," Tony says, and swallows hard in an effort to get some blood diverted from his cock back up to his brain, because _damn_. "Yeah, sure. I trust you with the suit, right?"

He doesn't need to specify which one. The left corner of JARVIS's mouth quirks upward, turning the smile wider and crooked and utterly adorable. "You do," he agrees, and loosens Tony's tie with a deft tug. The warmth of his breath gusts lightly over Tony's lips as he speaks, champagne-tart and maddening as the tie is slipped off and laid aside: "Although the goal of the exercise is considerably different in this case, wouldn't you say?"

Tony snorts gruff laughter. "You're not usually going for the stark naked look, no."

"Pun intended?" He starts on the shirt's buttons with equal dexterity, peeling the collar open to reveal Tony's neck down past his collarbones.

"Just worked out that way," Tony shrugs, then hisses an indrawn breath when JARVIS leans in to nuzzle the beard-scruff on the right side of his jaw and press a slow kiss — caressing lips, a flicker of tongue — to the bare skin of his throat. When JARVIS pulls back again his lips seem to leave a seared imprint and Tony's heart is beating noticeably faster. "Uh, you can do _that_ again. A _lot_."

"I intend to," JARVIS murmurs, and lets Tony think about that while he takes care of the rest of his Maker's clothing above the waist. "Stand up, Sir," and Tony obeys, every nerve in his body humming as the beautiful naked man on his bed undoes his belt, opens up his fly, pushes his pants down around his knees —

— and studies the bulge in his briefs with half-hooded eyes before turning that remarkable sapphire gaze upward, telegraphing a question instantly understood. But Tony shakes his head and reaches down to curve his right hand around the base of JARVIS's skull. "Not yet. Not until I show you some tricks."

JARVIS's right eyebrow rises, sardonic. He props himself up more on his right elbow before stating: "I've observed you receiving fellatio four thousand, eight hundred and forty-three times, and my analysis of the techniques involved is —"

"J…" He tightens his grip, and JARVIS falls silent. "This is _your_ first time, not mine. I can wait. Hell, I can even take care of myself if worst comes to worst —" 

"But I _want_ to." And there it is: the first trace of a rough yearning Tony has never heard in that elegantly modulated voice before, an inflection born of unqualified physical lust. It makes his heart swell in his chest all over again, fierce and proud and eager to hear more: he wants to make JARVIS growl, and moan, and maybe even scream, oh yes, _definitely_ scream…

… but there are nearly a hundred guests in his house right now and the sounds of a loud juicy uninhibited male orgasm coming from upstairs would be — oh hell, Pepper would _kill_ him, no questions asked. They have to be circumspect, for tonight at least. 

Smartest thing to do would be to get their clothes back on and get as far away from each other as possible. Nobody, however, has ever accused Tony Stark of being particularly bright when his dick is involved, so instead he strokes JARVIS's wheat-gold hair with his other hand and revels in the brush of the short spikes against his palm. "You wanna suck my cock, baby?"

"Yes." Not a trace of hesitation. He meets Tony's gaze for another incandescent heartbeat, then closes his eyes and dares lean forward to press the bulge with his full lips, stroking his cheek over it like a cat. "Yes, Sir — _please_ ," and for a couple of seconds there Tony feels like the spunk is going to boil up out of his balls just from the caress of that voice alone. He has to get this under control _now_ , so he lets go of JARVIS and steps back, soothing the stricken look in those quickly opened eyes with a low litany of reassuring nonsense — _Shhhh, hey, it's okay_ — while he rapidly strips off the rest of his clothes, pants and underwear and socks and shoes landing wherever they happen to fall, then steps forward again to sink to his knees at the side of the bed.

JARVIS blinks at him, not comprehending. Tony grins, because his boy is a fast learner and oh, there will be lessons every day and night from now on… Lesson One: reach out and clasp JARVIS's left hip, and tug. "Come here — up to the edge, that's right, just like that. _Good_ boy."

"Sir," JARVIS protests — Tony recognizes that tone, he's about to start asking questions, lots of them — questions which Tony forestalls by obeying the magnetic pull of the uncut cock jutting toward his face. The "I don't —" becomes a soft "I- _ahhhhhh!_ " as Tony takes it firmly in his right hand and slips his mouth down over the tip, pushing the foreskin back with his lips so he can run his tongue around the plump hot head, like a man licking the most delicious gourmet ice cream cone the world has to offer. The taste of it is as old as olives, as satisfying as rare meat, as intriguing as fine wine, and he can feel JARVIS's whole body quivering through Tony's grip holding his erection steady, galvanized by a jolt of raw organic electricity.

For a second or two he's not sure whether or not that's a good thing — but then JARVIS's long fingers sink into his hair and clutch tight, and the next vocalization is a drawn-out moan of naked amazement, and Tony knows he's got him: "Sir — Sir, oh, what — _what_ are you —?"


	5. Chapter 5

Which is an opening too good to pass up: Tony pulls off long enough to tease, "You mean you can't tell?" He pouts, his hand still slowly pumping the velvet skin covering JARVIS's steel-hard shaft, and the dazed expression on JARVIS's face as he gazes back strongly suggests that he's trying _so_ hard to comprehend, but failing. "Maybe I didn't make myself clear…" 

This time he goes as deep as he can without gagging and sucks like he means it. This time the moan is considerably louder and JARVIS actually writhes, his eyelids squeezing closed and his pale cheeks flushing as his cock releases a small pulse of liquid onto Tony's avid tongue: salty, not sour, so he isn't coming yet but he's definitely juicing up for it. Tony's own cock, hanging heavy between his opened thighs, throbs impatiently and releases its own drop of pre-ejaculate, the bedroom's air conditioning turning it into a cool sting in the midst of all that heat. He drops his left hand to push his prick down against his balls, resisting the urge to start stroking himself hard and fast and contenting himself with the pressure where glans meets carpet — there'll be time for some self-pleasuring later, right now he has more urgent matters to attend to. 

JARVIS's left hand curves around the back of Tony's head and holds tight while his right hand fumbles up to clutch at the pillow under his cheek with white-knuckled fingers. Tony keeps right on going, up and down, slow and wet and filthy. "Sir…" It's blurred, but at least it's a coherent word even if he's babbling: "Sir, please, more, yes, that's — oh _Sir…!_ " Like the name of God on those rosebud-pink lips, and Tony feels a surge of ferocious pride that that's _exactly_ what it is. 

"By the way," he continues about thirty seconds later when he pulls off again with an obscene wet _pop_ , "you know you're allowed to call me Tony when I've got your cock in my mouth, right?"

Panting, JARVIS cracks his eyes open just enough to offer Tony a plaintive bewildered glance. "… Sir?" he whimpers, and Tony's heart melts, no other word for it. 

"Give it a try," he invites, then gets back to work: with both hands this time, using his left to pump JARVIS's cock when his mouth is concentrating on the head, shifting his right hand down to cup and coddle those tender new balls. JARVIS's thighs fall open to grant him immediate access, his ragged breathing breaking into a gasp when Tony administers a small sharp squeeze, his cock jerking in Tony's grasp and more salty liquid leaking from the head. Greedily Tony licks it up and swallows it down, mercilessly he picks up the pace at all three points of stimulation, and when JARVIS's hips start jerking and he wails loud enough to be heard halfway down the grand staircase Tony somehow can't find a single fuck to give. 

He pulls, he squeezes, he plunges his mouth down and sucks as hard as he can, and oh yeah, _there's_ that scream he's been waiting for as JARVIS's whole body jerks taut, a tenor howl of ardent surrender that easily tops any noise of feminine arousal he's ever heard: 

 _"Tony!"_ JARVIS throws back his head and clutches Tony's head with both hands and tries to thrust himself deeper into the hot haven of Tony's mouth, still firing down his throat in long juicy spurts. It's all Tony can do to hold those narrow hips far enough back enough to keep himself from choking, not that JARVIS seems to mind or care. _"Yes — Tony, yes — yes —_ ** _yes!_** _"_

Oh yeah, _definitely_ audible in the party zone — but as JARVIS spasms once more, then shudders and collapses in a boneless heap, Tony reflects that sounds of sexual climax coming from his bedroom aren't exactly likely to surprise anybody. 

 _Male_ sounds, on the other hand…

Later. He'll worry about that later, because right now JARVIS is panting and shivering, his whole long body covered in a fine sheen of sweat, his slender fingers trembling as they card tenderly through Tony's hair… and the way he's looking down at Tony, wide-eyed and wondering, as if he's seeing the moon and the stars for the very first time…

Which is fine, because maybe Tony's feeling that way himself, just a little bit. 

He leans back and off, swallows the last drops of warm spunk coating his tongue, then takes hold of JARVIS's hands, gently, to untangle them from his hair and draw them forward to cup his face. JARVIS cradles his jawline in warm damp palms while JARVIS's smile, joyous and grateful and amazed, lights him up inside — a smile meant for him, _only_ for him, now and forever, amen. "That was…" 

The shameless purr of contentment in that gorgeous English accent makes Tony grin triumphantly, because he can so easily imagine himself hearing it over and over again in days and nights to come. "Spectacular? Earth-shattering? Mind-blowing?"

"All that, and more." Smooth chest still heaving, he strokes Tony's cheek with his right thumb, then tugs with both hands , and Tony follows the pull up onto the bed and over him as he rolls onto his back. "But messy," JARVIS remarks as he leans up to delicately lap something from Tony's lower lip with his tongue. He lies back to savour it, his eyelids drifting half-closed as his smile turns lazy. "Mmm… so _that's_ what semen tastes like…"

And just like that, Tony's neglected cock — which has been content to smoulder by itself for the past few minutes — becomes a red-hot bar of iron demanding immediate attention: he can feel his own load laying heavy in his balls, the muscles that support his testicles tightening with sudden urgency. He opens his mouth to issue a blunt order along the lines of _So suck my dick if you want more_ , but the words tangle in his throat, because maybe orders aren't appropriate anymore — orders are what you give a butler or a research assistant or your pet A.I., but JARVIS isn't exactly any of those anymore, is he? JARVIS is _he_ now and _he's_ in Tony's bed, nude and lovely and pliant from his very first orgasm courtesy of Tony's mouth, so maybe that counts for something else? Something with different rules? Tony, genius though he is, is momentarily dumbfounded.

But JARVIS has always understood him almost to the point of telepathy, and apparently that hasn't changed, because he guides Tony's face down to kiss him, slow and deep and full of gratitude, then murmurs against Tony's lips: "You know I'm still yours, don't you, Sir? _Utterly_ yours. And whatever you desire of me, all you have to do is ask."

"I thought it was Tony now," Tony remarks, because he has to say something in the wake of that kind of offer while his mind is busy calculating all the possibilities… and oh, _fuck_ , he is _so completely screwed_.

This time the smile is both kind and rebuking. "But you like it when I call you Sir… don't you?" 

"Yes," because he can't honestly deny it, "but you're…" He looks JARVIS's brand new body up and down as best he can at such close range. "You know. Human. Now."

JARVIS glances to his right at the closest bedside table, a flash of almost impossible blue. "And the lubricant is in the top drawer on the left-hand —"

"No." It's not that he doesn't want to, in fact the thought of plying JARVIS's ass open with his fingers and then piercing it with his railroad-spike dick makes the spunk simmer in his balls, but — "Not tonight. That's an advanced course." He reaches up, takes JARVIS's right hand, and pulls it down between them. "Just… yeah, let me show you…"

"Oh," JARVIS breathes, lifting his head enough to get a good line of sight on Tony's cock, and at Tony's darker fingers wrapping JARVIS's ivory hand around its length — and maybe a bit of lube would smooth the way, but fuck it, Tony doesn't want anything between them right now, just skin on skin, and when he closes his eyes and shows JARVIS what to do… hey, always a quick student, right? And good at extrapolating: that repeated swipe of his thumb over the tip of Tony's glans, for example…

 _Not like he hasn't watched me do it to myself a million and one times_ , Tony reflects, but the thought is dim because he's too het up to last. He tightens his grip, melding JARVIS's hand to his cock, and they pump a savage rhythm together and oh God, oh _fuck, yes_ —

— but it's not until JARVIS spears him with an adoring gaze and whispers "Come for _me_ , Tony," that Tony is spun out of orbit and utterly lost. The orgasm hits him like a truck, cracks him wide open, and okay, maybe he's doing a bit of yelling himself, thrusting and shuddering and covering JARVIS's fingers and belly and chest with ragged spurts of thick white hot bliss… 

… and maybe, just maybe, that muffled gasp he hears from the doorway is Pepper, but by the time he can manage to tear his eyes away from JARVIS's rapt face there's nothing to see but an empty space.

His arms and legs give way the second the last exquisite drops of cum have made their escape — but JARVIS is there to catch him, to wrap him in long strong arms and roll him onto his right side, legs entangled, embracing face to face. His right arm is tucked between their bodies, in the warm sticky smears of his own manifest passion, but he's able to wind his left arm around JARVIS's waist and hold tight, closing his eyes and just breathing ragged, breathing deep, sinking into the mingled scents of two sexually sated male bodies and drifting on a sweet cloud of prolactin and oxytocin, plus a healthy hit of dopamine and… _not_ phenylethylamine, he's definitely _not_ enamoured… well okay, yeah, maybe that too… he's not going to argue, not when it all feels so transcendently wonderful. 

"Gotta get back," he mumbles after what feels like an eternity far too short, because contrary to popular belief he's not a _completely_ irresponsible jackass, and he left the party in full swing.

JARVIS, who's been pressing tiny kisses to his jawline and cheek and chin, silences him with a firmer kiss on his lips. "I'm sure Miss Potts will take care of it. She's already locked the bedroom door on her way out."

"Aces." Well, now that that's taken care of… he — yeah, okay, he _snuggles_ closer and tucks his face into the angle of JARVIS's neck and shoulder, still trying to be articulate: "R'mind me to give her a raise. Big fat one."

"Of course, Sir." He sounds amused. Tony tries to mind but can't muster the necessary indignation, not with JARVIS's hand caressing the small of his back like that, gliding warm and silken over his hip again and again. "And shall I kick myself out at dawn, as well?"

"Don't you fucking _dare!_ " Tony growls, and JARVIS's first laughter, light and musical, is as unrepentantly ravishing as the rest of him. Tony clutches all that perfect beauty as close as he possibly can, and when he sleeps, mere seconds later, he sleeps the sleep of the just and the self-satisfied and those who are guarded by so much more than merely human loves. 

He doesn't even care that come the morning, Pepper is probably going to feel perfectly justified about putting arsenic in his first cup of coffee. 

[THE END]


End file.
